Recently I had an opportunity to watch Cadillac Records.  I enjoyed the movie as it covers a genre of music that speaks to me and there is one scene from the movie that has continued to stick with me for both the song and the cinematography.

What movie moment has haunted you?

A doctor stands at the end of the table and deftly pulls an infant girl from her mother’s womb in the last stages of labor.  The act of conception has long since been forgotten,  nine months of gestation have been fulfilled,  and now, hours of pain have come to this moment.  The first act of this new life.

Breathe

The father, standing in the corner, expels his own breath that he has been holding for those tense moments.  It is an excited sigh of relief that was triggered by his daughter’s first wail because it was a sign that she was breathing – that she was Alive!

With God’s good graces, this new infant daughter may live to 80 or 90 years of age before expelling her final breath.  In between this moment and that one, she will take for granted the air that passes across the fibers of her lungs as a natural part of her living.  Sure, there will be times when she will choke on a drink or find herself under water longer than she intended, and in those moments she will be reminded how precious that thing is which she has been taking for granted.

As I study and read about New Testament ecclesiology,  I can see this same story reflected in the spiritual.

Take for instance how the church started.

Christ’s death was the catalyst needed to conceive the early church… without His part in the redemption of man to the Father, the church could not be born.  Following His death we see a time of expectant waiting as His followers eventually find themselves in Jerasulem, in an upper room, gathered together not sure of what is going to happen.

And then it happens.  A breath of air is breathed into the church.  It supplies power and life.

The people outside are drawn to the wailing of this infant church and Peter stands and delivers a Spirit-inspired message concerning the Good News. When the people hear this message they are cut to the heart and ask what they are to do.  And what we see is the process at work again.

The seed of faith was conceived in them as the breath of the Spirit worked through Peter….and he is ready to walk them through their own births. Much like the doctor in the first paragraph of my post.

These people needed to see that they were to become a new creation in Christ, that they had to turn away from the old things.  And then much like a babe is birthed through the amniotic fluids, they would need to be baptized to symbolize their new birth.  But one more thing would be required otherwise theirs would be a still birth.  They would have to breathe.

2000 years later I am left to wonder if we see the affects of the stillborn around us.  Or at the very least, individuals who have taken for granted the very breath that gives them life.

Are we a church that needs to learn how to breathe?

If you have been around the American church for very long, you will have learned several tools for communicating salvation to those poor wayward souls who do not yet know Christ.  There is the Roman Road, GOSPEL, and, of course, the ABC’s of salvation to name a few.

I want to take a look at the ABC approach to witnessing for just a moment.  A quick internet search will show that the ABC’s are not as simple as we would be led to believe because the letters are not always assigned the same meaning. I will demonstrate the one that I am most familiar with, here:

• A – Admit your a sinner.
• B – Believe in Jesus
• C – Confess that Jesus is Lord.

Seems simple enough on the surface – maybe too simple.

For instance, in order for someone to admit they are a sinner, they must first Believe that there is a greater authority on what is right or wrong.  Otherwise, how are they to define sin?  Conviction of sin can only come from a true knowledge of God’s character and how out of step from that character we are.  It is my belief, then, that the first letter in this acronym must be “B” for Believe.  That belief is what leads the lost person to be convicted of their sin and seek Repentance.  Which, “R”, is the letter I would use for the second part of the acronym that I  propose.  And finally, repentance/belief are both marked by Obedience and the means that “O” is the final part of my acronym.

Salvation which is another way of saying someone coming to Faith in Christ, brings an important point to this discussion.  Let me define faith as this:

Faith, is in the same moment, both a belief and the response to that belief.

Let me use that definition to walk my acronym:

B – Believe there is a God whose character has demonstrated our need for redemption and that this same God made a way for this redemption through His son, Christ Jesus.

This belief must be acted on by either rejecting His authority or accepting it.  By accepting it, we are called to Repentance.

R – Repentance is agreeing, in love, with God that we are contrary to His will and that we need His forgiveness for redemption.  That belief calls for action on our part to turn away from our own desires and, instead, seek His will in our life.  This requires Obedience. For the new convert, they are to follow in obedience by being baptized and publicly confessing that Christ is Lord.

O – Obedience is believing that God knows best for our lives and has set forth instructions for godly counsel in His Word, the bible.  That belief calls for us to be modeling our lives after His teachings.

With each step, a belief (faith) is followed by action.  I think James, the brother of Christ, would concur with this equation.

I would like to point out that the version of the ABC’s that I have presented here never get around to dealing with repentance.  This along with the problematic issue of admitting sin before belief, makes me wary of using this particular tool in an effective manner.

If I had more time, I would dig into the following verses. 1 Corinthians 13:13, Luke 9:23,  Hebrews 11:1, James 1:27, and 1 Peter 3:15.  Take some time and dig into these verses and see how Faith, Hope, and Love fit together.

Let me begin this post with the dictionary definition of stupid because right now some of us may be ignorant of its meaning… uh, what’s that? I used the word ignorant in my discussion of defining stupid and that seems redundant? Whoa.. wait.  Let’s get the cart behind the horse where it belongs then.  Here is the the dictionary definition of ignorant:

lacking in knowledge or training; unlearned

versus the dictionary definition of stupid:

characterized by or proceeding from mental dullness; foolish; senseless

So there is a difference between the two – one can be ignorant without being stupid.  However, an example of stupidity would be to act as if you have knowledge of something when you don’t.  Because that is just plain foolish.  For example: a person who has never sky-dived (lack of knowledge of the sport) decides to pack his own parachute and go base jumping from a bridge (very, very foolish – aka, stupid).

I like to characterize that as the highest level of stupidity and have deemed it willful ignorance – choosing to remain ignorant but acting or speaking as if educated in the subject.

So how am I stupid – and how are you stupid?

While I could give multiple societal examples, especially in the political arena, I want to steer this conversation to a topic called sanctification. Whew.. another big word.  Let me simplify it this way – its the work of the Holy Spirit in conjunction with teachings from the Word of God to make change in a person to become more like Christ.  I know that sounds churchy but it’s a churchy word so I don’t know how to make it less churchy.  Yeah, this is one of those posts.

Most people in America can by some form or another, possibly osmosis, create an image of what is expected of a person who claims to be a Christian.  That very term creates a checklist of morality that we confuse for godliness and because of our ignorance we strive in our own power to accomplish our task list in order to be acceptable before man.  And in our stupidity, we call that sanctification.

It is the highest level of stupidity because we choose not to be educated because we don’t plug into the Holy Spirit and we don’t pick up the bible.  Or if we do, we have become so callous to our condition that we don’t believe we can be taught anything new.  Don’t believe me?

Ask yourself this question:

When was the last time the bible challenged my beliefs?

Now I am not talking about those times when we recognize a truth that we already know and haven’t obeyed that we agree we should obey – but won’t.  That is a whole other topic that we could dig into but I don’t want you to miss the point of this topic.  When was the last time you read something in the bible and it shook you to your core because it broke a long-held belief that you had accepted as truth?  When was the last time the Holy Spirit said, “You’re wrong”?

Maybe in our cockiness we believe that we have already arrived and there are no new truths to learn about our character in light of God’s word.

In our willful ignorance we are willing to live by our own definition of what Christianity should be not realizing there is no joy in that.  Stupidity has consequences like base jumping with no instruction – there may be a short-lived thrill until the realization sinks in that the chute won’t open.  At that point the only thing left is desperation.

Know any desperate Christians?  Maybe you are a desperate Christian.

Sanctification was never about what we could accomplish.  It has always been about what God could accomplish in us through the redemption of His Son, the power of the Holy Spirit, and the instruction of His Word.  It doesn’t start with a predefined, mental checklist.  It takes humble obedience over a lifetime…. and even then we won’t have learned everything there is to know.

The book of Philemon details the story of Onesimus, a runaway slave.  His owner, Philemon, was most likely a wealthy man as he was able to afford to own slaves and his house was large enough for the church to meet in it.  In Paul’s letter to Philemon, he had nothing but praise and good things to say about this wealthy man.

So why did Onesimus run away?  If Philemon was a generous and godly man, what prompted Onesimus to flee?

I would like to hear your thoughts before I add mine.  It’s a short book so it won’t take you long to read it.

I am sitting in my reading/tv watching chair and there are several books next to me – much to my wife’s chagrin.  She will probably migrate them to my office at some point and then slowly they will migrate back to their current location.  It’s as inevitable as the tide’s coming in and going out.

My current reading list includes:

• Think Orange by Reggie Joiner
• And He Dwelt Among Us by A.W. Tozer
• Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis
• Game Plan For Life by Joe Gibbs

2 of the books are contemporary books that are concerned with topics that face men and families in today’s society.  The authors are of those 2 books are still living and at least one of them is a very well respected celebrity in the sports world.

The other 2 books were written in the previous century and the authors are no longer living. But…  their words are still applicable and speaking today.

So, what are you reading?

I don’t know that it would take a great deal of bible study to recognize there was a difference in the disciples before the day of Pentecost and the days that followed.  Those days following Christ’s crucifixion and before the coming of the Holy Spirit, the church was running scared.  Including those that had been closest to Christ – His disciples.

But then something happened on that day of Pentecost that put power into the early church movement.  The people gathered obediently and were filled with the Holy Spirit.  No more running.  No more denying.  No backing down. No watering down.  No dressing up.  Just the pure simple beauty of the gospel message presented through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Thinking on that I can’t help but be introspective about my own beliefs and the impact of the Holy Spirit in my life.  I feel that I fall miserably short of the example set in that early church.

Am I the only one?

But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come. For men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, arrogant, revilers, disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy, unloving, irreconcilable, malicious gossips, without self-control, brutal, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to a form of godliness, although they have denied its power; Avoid such men as these. For among them are those who enter into households and captivate weak women weighed down with sins, led on by various impulses, always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.  2 Timothy chapter 3, verses 1-7.

Am I running scared?  Are you?

What will it take to galvanize the church to lay a hold of the power?

Think on it.  Let me know your thoughts.

I was driving home this evening and I was thinking about this question:

Are Christians today ready to go to heaven or hoping to?

I believe there is a difference and I believe that difference has a vast impact on how the two different groups behave and are perceived.  Before I give my two cents on the subject, I would like to hear what you think on the subject.

Philippians, Chapter 1, has some application to this thought process… so I will give you that bit of help to get your cognitive processes engaged.

This is the second installment of my short story, Collecting Tears.  These chapters are mostly rough drafts that I need to revisit and brush up, but I am posting them because they may push me to finish writing the story.

Chapter 2: Sweet Escapes

The spell of the scene was falling away and she was slowly returning to her sad reality.  Life had been long but not so long that she was ready to be collecting the rewards that she had feared as a seven year old.  Some things didn’t change.  In fact, some things only worsened with age.  She had always wondered what lay beyond the dusty shroud that separated this existence from the next.  Wondering only increased her trepidation.

She clasped her vial tighter, thankful that it offered an alternative to the unknown.  In those last moments, she would escape to her own comfortable reality – a lifetime that she had made for herself.

Being frightened caused her to grow angry – she shouldn’t be so fragile at this point in her life. Preparations had been made and carried out and there was no reason to fear now.  She caressed the vial once again, needing to return to a place that would bring her joy.  Yes, there were tears of joy here too.

…

She could smell the vegetable gardens that grew in everybody’s backyards.  Victory gardens.  She hated the fact that she had to spend hours a day weeding the rows of tomatoes, corn, and green beans.  “Plant More In ‘44″ was posted on posters all over down town.  When she looked at her broken finger nails full of dirt, she wanted to march along the streets and rip the hateful propaganda from its mocking edifice.  Victory indeed.  Seventeen and relegated to menial and meaningless labor.

The scent of the tomato leaves did nothing to soothe her mood.  The air hung hot and heavy across the night like a wet blanket.  She was going crazy with the heat.  Even the crickets sounded sluggish outside her window.  The moon was hidden causing the darkness to seem suffocating in the summer swelter. She bit her damp pillow case and screamed in frustration.

She could resist it no longer.  Standing at the foot of her bed, she removed her night gown and stood naked against the window frame.  There was no breeze to cool her skin, but getting the wadded up shift away from her body had made her think she felt cooler.  Feeling cooler didn’t remove the stench of the garden that lay beyond her sill leaving her mood still curdled by the heat.

She wasn’t sure how long she had stared out at the stars, being serenaded by soggy crickets, before she noticed a small whisper of a wind playing among the ivy tendrils that grew around her frame.  It teased her, calling her to come and play.  Why couldn’t she have been a boy, then she could simply step out into the night and enjoy the sweat being dried off of her skin by the small breeze.  No sooner had she thought it than she acted on it. Girls had a right to be cool, too.

Her bare feet hit the fresh turned soil that ran clear up to the base of the wall that held her window.  She could feel small stones bite softly into her soles but she didn’t care.  The sweat that was hidden by night’s dark cloak was being lifted off by gentle tugs of northern winds.  It was more than refreshing, it was chilling.  A shiver of excitement ran along her spine causing her to toss her hair as if she were a wild mare loosed on a vast prairie.

She took a few more timid steps into the night to taste the forbidden ecstasy of being unclothed in a world of that hid too much.  Her fourth step brought her heel down on a ripening tomato.  It popped deliciously.  The sweet green smell that it released was fresh blood in the tank shark of her mood.

She gave into the desire, running up and down the rows of vegetables stomping tomatoes, throwing ears of corn, and ripping beans from their vines.  It was heavenly.  She smelled like soup and felt like a silver fox hunting her prey.  She tipped her head back towards an invisible moon and yipped, a wild cub on the hunt.  Tears flowed down her jaw line, falling to her bare breasts where she eventually trapped one in the crystal tube that hung always in her budding valley.

This is a short story titled Collecting Tears that I started about 3 years ago.  There are several chapters in this work so  I will post the first chapter today…

Chapter 1: Near the End

It had taken a life time but it was finally full. Trembling hands clutched a delicate crystal vial that rested against a bosom that rose and fell in shallow gasps. The final tear had come from Nelly, her long time nurse. It was a task that had nearly cost her the energy to continue breathing but one that had to be done never the less.

Why had the poor lass been so obstinate about holding her feelings in? An hour of story telling had finally broken Nelly’s resolve and she had let ocean waters streak down her face. A practiced brush of the child’s cheek had captured the precious liquid on a flattened nail where she could hide it until she sent the nurse away. Once she was alone, she had painstakingly collected that final material.

Now resting quietly, she had time to look back across the pages of time.

Her mother had christened the vial on her birthday some 87 years ago. Her first tear had rolled down her infant cheek and into the glass capsule coming to rest lonely on the bottom. Somehow that had saved the power of the moment and she was able to recall in vivid detail the moments before and after the capture of that single tear. Just by concentrating on the vial, she could draw on the pain and confusion that defined the passage of her life from the womb to the world. She could relive the searing despair of being removed from the umbilical and the lush caresses of her mother’s first kisses.

She always felt silly for wasting time on that first tear but she missed her mother more now at the end of her life than when she had lost her so many years ago. There was a tear in the vial for that day as well, but she wouldn’t let herself be drawn into that memory – no, they were more than memories. Each sweet dew drop represented life. Nothing less. To take a hold of the power they held was to be in their moment of life again.

She knew each tear and from whom they had come from. They were friends of delight and pain that she had visited with more times than she cared to remember.

The gray shadow of death was climbing closer about her but she held no fear. She was prepared for that final moment now that her collection was complete. With her last gasp she would swallow the contents of the crystal container and dance forever among their moments – each one so carefully harvested and saved for this day.

Until death got on with his business, she would enjoy calling on the power of a few more of her favorite collections.

…

There was one tear that was more powerful than all the others. It called to her when she slept – none of the others had ever done that. Just the one. She was careful to visit it on occasions when she was alone because it affected her so deeply to return to that moment.

She was seven years old. It was summer time outside the house, but winter seemed to hold sway inside on this day. She had woke up cold inside her bones even though it was quite warm. The only true break from the summer heat for the plantation house in 1927 were the large oaks that lent their shade to the gentle breezes that passed through screen covered windows.

Summer heat or no, she was shivering. She was sick.

Many of her neighbors had been sick as well. And many of them were now on to their eternal rewards – words her mother used to describe when someone had died.She wasn’t sure what eternal rewards were, but she knew she wasn’t in a hurry to be getting any. She climbed out of bed and stumbled to the bed pan that had been placed in her room since she hadn’t been feeling well. The cold porcelain made her shiver more harshly causing some spray to hit her calf. Mom wouldn’t be happy, but she used the hem of her night shirt to wipe her leg dry. The mere fact that she was thinking along those lines made her feel a little better. Maybe she wouldn’t be getting any eternal rewards anytime soon after all.

Her little brother slept in the room across the hall and she hurried to cross over to check on him. If she was feeling better, maybe he was feeling better too. Before she made it through his doorway, she could see her father sitting in the chair next to Bubby’s bed. She could only see his back but she could tell that he was sitting with his face in his hands. Every morning it was the same. Sometimes she felt jealous because he always spent time next to Bubby’s bed and so little besides hers. She had mentioned it to mother one night as she was being tucked in and had been told that her brother wasn’t as strong as she was and that her father was afraid for Bubby. That had shocked her because she had never seen her father be afraid of anything.

She stepped fully into the room and her father looked over his shoulder. She saw something this morning that she had never seen before either. Her father was crying.

She had collected her first tear while he had squeezed her in a tight hug. Her mother had turned the vial over to her just the previous week. Maybe its power came from that fact – that it had been her first. No, she knew the real reason. This was the only time her father had ever cried. The hug had hurt but somehow she had known that he needed to squeeze her hard because he couldn’t do so with her brother. Sometime that morning her Bubby had collected his eternal rewards whether he had wanted to or not.

80 years later she felt his warm tears splashing on her shoulder. She could feel the scratchy stubble that was rubbing her cheek raw and smell the cologne that he had put on the previous morning. His body had shook more than hers had when she was shivering from the sickness. More than anything though, she could feel the pain that tore her father’s heart apart.

…

Uncollected tears spilled fresh across time weathered cheeks lost in the power of this one greater tear.